The Fish With the Golden Scales
by Rose and Psyche
Summary: In which Peter and Edmund go AWOL from Cair Paravel and meet a very peculiar fish. Brother fic. Book-verse canon. Rated T for violence.
1. The Fish

_Well, now, take down your fishin' pole and_

_meet me at The Fishin' Hole,_

_We may not get a bite all day,_

_but don't you rush away._

_What a great place to rest your bones and_

_mighty fine for skippin' stones,_

_You'll feel fresh as a lemonade,_

_a-settin' in the shade._

~ _Fishing Hole_ from the Andy Griffith show

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><p>The Fish<p>

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><p>Fish:<em> Any of numerous cold-blooded aquatic vertebrates of the superclass Pisces, characteristically having fins, gills, and a streamlined body.<em>

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><p>The tweezers were shaking in Edmund's hand as the loop of thread slipped free for the third time. The thread was short and Edmund's temper was shorter as he jerked it onto the floor and sat staring at it menacingly.<p>

"Be that way," he muttered, trying to rub some of the fish glue off his fingers, then turning to look back at his ship model where it sat in the sunlight on his little work bench. He had been trying to fasten the ratlines, each bit of thread tied with a tiny clove hitch, but his fingers had been large and fumbling. The ship had come very close to being broken on the floor.

Thoughtfully, Edmund poked at the ratlines; stretching them so they hung naturally…it didn't look _so_ bad…

"Good morning brother!" a voice boomed from the door. Shocked, Edmund jumped, stumbling to his feet, his chair toppling.

"Peter!" Edmund cried, clutching the corner of the table, "Why do you always do that!"

"You know I live to get a rise out of you," Peter stooped under the low door frame and came into the room to stare at the ship model where it was illuminated in the window light. Gently, he reached out to touch the bow rails where they curved to the figurehead. "It's a masterpiece."

"Is it time for council yet?" Edmund asked, peeling glue off his fingers.

A sizzling made Peter dash across the room to lift the lid on a little burbling pot of glue that was hanging by an S hook over the fire in the grate; an overpowering stench of fish filled the air and Peter choked.

"You and your hobbies," Peter muttered dropping the lid and putting an arm around Edmund's neck to drag him out into the fresh air. Edmund's workshop was in a little stone building with a dirt floor back to back with the stables. Edmund found himself blinking in the sunlight, watching while one of the palace horses received his yearly bath.

"_Is_ it time for council yet?" Edmund asked again.

"More or less," Peter said, "Don't you wish we didn't have to go?"

"Don't I?" Edmund asked. "We don't really have to be there. Peridan could preside just as well as we could."

"So he could," Peter said, "You're not suggesting that we jump ship, are you, baby brother?"

"No," Edmund said, "not exactly."

The sound of screeching toenails made them both look around as a pair of talking hounds hurtled around the corner of the stables, tails jerking for balance and tongues flipping in the wind. One of them tried to stop, did a flip against a flower pot and ended with face in a puddle of water. The other kept on, howling past the groom who held the horse and under the steed himself. First water, then this was too much for the horse. With a terrified whinny, the horse reared, breaking loose of his holder and crow-hopping around the stable yard. Peter and Edmund dove.

"Oops!" the first hound said, dragging himself out of the puddle. The other one made a marvelous attempt to make it look like it was the groom who had gone flying under the horse. He slunk away, tail between his legs.

Peter lunged and caught the horse's trailing lead rope. Speaking gently, he rubbed the horse's ears, calming him. The horse turned a white rimmed eye on him and snorted. Peter laughed.

"Sorry about that, your majesty," the groom said, taking the horse back.

"Not a problem." Peter said, slapping the horse's gleaming flank as it passed him. He turned back to Edmund with a grin, "I love dogs; sometimes I wish I was one."

"You wish you were a _dog_?" Edmund asked incredulously, "they smell bad, they _drool_, they're always wanting to eat something and even the talking ones don't make much sense."

"Well, you can be a cat then," Peter said, laughing.

"I do not wish I was a cat," Edmund said.

"What do you wish for?" Peter asked, growing serious.

"I wish for some excitement," Edmund said, "Life has gotten too dull around here."

"Councils are dull," Peter stated.

"Quite true," Edmund said.

"Signing bills into law is dull," Peter added.

"Absolutely."

"Hearing the complaints of baron what's-his-face is dull," Peter was getting into his element.

"Here here," Edmund said.

Peter thumped Edmund in the chest, "Let's go fishing!" he yelled over his shoulder, then raced across the stable yard. For half a moment of stunned silence he ran alone, then Edmund was hard on his heels.

"The council will be mad," Edmund pointed out.

"Who cares?"

"The bills will have to be signed some other time."

"Let them!"

"Baron what's-his-face will really be complaining."

"So he will!"

"Where are we going fishing?"

"I know a grand place," Peter said, slinging Edmund's saddle down from a rack and tossing it to him, "A braw little tarn not far from here."

~o*o~

The sun was high and the world was beautiful when Peter spurred his horse through the gates of Cair Paravel, Edmund beside him. The ocean seemed as blue as the sky and a merchant vessel swooped, tacking, her sails like bird's wings and white clouds. Down the slope to the little town of Paravel, they could hear the chanting of the river otters as they hove down a vessel for barnacle scraping.

Peter's horse, Ambyr, leapt forward, his white mane streaming in the wind. Umbra was Edmund's horse, a blue roan the color of charcoal. Their hooves beat a steady rhythm on the road as Peter and Edmund guided them, skillfully weaving through the traffic that was going to Cair Paravel.

"So where exactly are we going?" Edmund called as Umbra flew over the hedge on the side of the road and struck out across the valley below the castle on a little used footpath.

"It's not _much_ further!" Peter called, urging his horse still faster.

Edmund half grinned and let his hand fall caressingly on his horse's powerful neck, his voice rising and falling with Umbra's flying gait. A black tipped ear pricked towards him and Umbra drew level with Ambyr. Peter glanced over at him, but there was no hope, Umbra was the faster horse and Edmund the lighter rider. A moment later, he was leading.

"Not fair!" Peter called.

"I like not fair terms and a villain's mind." Edmund said, grinning.

"Don't spout Shakespeare at me!" Peter laughed and leaning low over his horse's neck, he summoned a last burst of speed from somewhere and surged ahead.

Climbing another hill, they slowed again, transitioning down to a trot. Peter tipped his hat to a man who was walking the path, his pack over his shoulder.

"Watch out for bandits!" the peddler called good naturedly.

Ambyr slid to a halt and Peter looked around, "What's that about bandits?"

"Bandits held up a friend of mine three days ago along here," the peddler said. "But I see you are armed, you should come to no harm."

"Thank you, sir, for your warning," Edmund said.

"We'll keep our eyes peeled," Peter added. "Aslan's blessings!"

"And you too!" the peddler called after them as they turned their horses and continued on their way.

"So where is this fishing hole?" Edmund asked.

"Oh, it's along here somewhere," Peter said standing up in his stirrups, "I don't think it moved since last week."

Edmund reached out and pulled Peter's hat over his nose, then urged Umbra ahead. He could hear the sound of rushing water and as Umbra leapt over tree roots in the trail, he saw glittering spray leaping into the air. A moment later, he pulled up his horse next to a wide pool of water, naturally dammed on one side and surging with white water on the other as a waterfall cascaded down a cliff of smooth rock.

"Trout in this hole," Peter said, swinging off his horse and rummaging for the pieces of his fishing pole in his saddlebag.

"Looks like a good place for a swim," Edmund said, fitting bamboo sections together.

"Shall I throw you in?" Peter asked, grinning.

Edmund ignored him. If he said 'no' Peter would push him in and if he said 'yes' Peter would push him in. There was no winning with Peter.

"Have an earthworm?" Peter asked handing him one and a moment later, they were sitting on the bank, their feet dangling in the water, fishing lines trailing.

Edmund measured himself next to Peter. He was sixteen now and long, though not as long as Peter. He always lost wrestling matches.

Peter saw what he was doing and grinned.

"You're getting bigger, baby brother," Peter said, ruffling Edmund's hair. Edmund made a grab for his hand, but Peter snatched it away. The next moment – they never decided whose fault it was – someone's foot slipped and they both went tumbling over the bank into the fishing hole with a tremendous splash. Arms and legs went everywhere and Peter shouted something before he went under.

"What was that?" Edmund asked when Peter came up again.

"My hat," Peter took a deep breath and dove. A moment later he was up again with a sorry looking hat dripping from his hand. "The feather's gone." He said sadly.

"Let's find it," Edmund said, "it will be all right once it dries."

Edmund dove, pulling to the bottom. The water was remarkably clear, lit like liquid light. Tiny fish darted away from him, bright flashes of color against the dancing pebbles on the bottom. A blotch of red caught his eye and he turned to see the feather, wafting airily and looking strangely beautiful amid the green, frilly water weeds. He reached out to grab it, but jerked back when the weeds parted and a great golden fish leapt at him, a look of contempt on its face.

Edmund burst to the surface, choking.

"Get it?" Peter asked.

"Pete, can a fish show contempt?" Edmund blurted.

"Um…" Peter said.

Then the water leapt and the fish Edmund had seen flew into the air, twisting among golden drops of light and water, to splash again into the pool. Peter stared after it.

"I'd swear it winked at me," Peter gaped.

Edmund pulled himself up the bank out of the water and Peter followed, looking over his shoulder. The water was surging again and a moment later, the fish rose half out of the water and slapped the surface with a frilly fin. Its scales glittered like plate gold and its eyes had a strangely intelligent expression.

It stared at them and they stared back.

"Some fishing you're doing," the fish said at last, rather airily. "Didn't your father ever teach you not to jump into the pool before going fishing?"

"I think he said something of that nature before," Peter said, half smiling.

"I was not aware that fish talked," Edmund said.

"You can add something new to your list of thing you are aware of," the fish said, "Now, let's get to the point."

"You going to chew us out for jumping into your pool?" Peter asked.

"It isn't my habit to admonish royalty," the fish said, "but it is my habit, rather my obligation, to grant wishes and I'm going to grant you each a wish."

"A wish?" Edmund said.

"You are kings that rule a country and I am a fish that grants wishes. That's what I do," the fish frowned, "there's one drawback, though, they expire at midnight."

They stared at the fish blankly.

"So what's it going to be?" the fish asked, slightly annoyed. "What are your wishes?"

"Um," Peter shook himself, "I can't think of anything."

Edmund glanced at him, then back at the fish, "Same here. What sorts of things do you normally grant?"

The fish rolled its eyes, "I've never met anyone who couldn't think of a wish…" It scratched its head thoughtfully, "I've never met royalty before either, maybe that explains it. Oh come now, there must be something you want!"

Peter shrugged, "can't think of anything."

The fish stared at him for a moment, then shrugged himself, "right then, I'll give you the wishes you already made."

With that, and a saucy quirk of his tail, the fish was gone, leaving only the sunlight to dance off the ripples where he had been.

"What did we wish for?" Edmund asked, then turned to look at Peter and broke off, mouth hanging open. "Peter?"

Because Peter wasn't there anymore.

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><p>AN: This may well prove to be one of the strangest stories you have ever read...except _Narnia Recycled_... It took two nights to complete, one to think it up and one to write it down. Please review and enjoy!

~Rose and Psyche


	2. Peter's Wish

Peter's Wish

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><p><em>If wishes were horses, beggars would ride<em>

~ Old English proverb, originating in the 16th century

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><p>A big golden coated hound sat where Peter had been a moment before, tongue hanging out and tail thoughtfully tapping. He was a beautiful dog with big, sad amber eyes and drooping jowls, quite large, but from the size of his paws, not as large as he was going to be.<p>

"Peter?" Edmund choked, his face a picture of horror. The hound cocked his head.

"Peter, what happened to you?"

The hound raised his ears intelligently, then crept forward very slowly and peeked at himself in the surface of the pool. A hound dog reflection looked up panting from the water and with a horrified yelp, the dog jerked backwards, almost tumbling into Edmund's arms.

"It's too late," Edmund said, starting to laugh, "_You _wished to be a dog!"

The hound that was Peter barked once, strangely and it almost seemed that he was trying to say something. The tail thumped in exasperation.

"Next time," Edmund added, wagging his finger under Peter's jowls, "wish yourself a talking hound."

Peter wined and wagged his tail.

"Well," Edmund said, "Let's just hope the fish was true to his word and it all expires at midnight. You'd look quite remarkable sitting on your throne like that."

Edmund chuckled, imagining Peter in his present state sitting on his throne in royal robes, his valet next to him with a bone on a silver platter. The hound stood looking at him, tongue hanging, tail wagging. Yet despite it all, there was a marked resemblance to his brother and he wondered if anyone else would be able to recognize him. Edmund couldn't help himself, he choked, then laughter burst from him in spasms until the tears ran down his cheeks.

Peter cocked his head, then with a bark, knocked him over and sat on him, licking his face.

~o*o~

Edmund didn't really know what to do. He couldn't bring Peter back to the castle like that, Susan would be horrified. So he decided to stay and catch some fish, but Peter was getting increasingly annoying because every time Edmund hooked something, the hound would go leaping into the water with a happy bark and try to catch it.

The sun was riding higher when Edmund finally disassembled his fishing pole and put it in his saddlebag with Peter's. There were no fish to show for his efforts, Peter had eaten them all and at the moment was galloping around and around the horses, tongue flying. Ambyr followed his progress with a wary eye.

Edmund swung astride Umbra and turned the horse's nose west. There was a town not far away and he was ravenously hungry. As Umbra broke into a swinging lope, Peter barreled after them, barking at the top of his lungs. Ambyr, following behind, aimed a kick at him, but the hound slipped out of the way without trouble. He always had been athletic, Edmund thought.

"Peter!" Edmund called when his brother stopped to bark excitedly at a squirrel that was hurling insults from its leafy tower. Peter grinned over his shoulder, then galumphed into a bush and sent two partridges beating into the sky.

Half the time Peter was so far ahead Edmund could hardly see him. The other half of the time, Peter was so far behind Edmund could hardly see him. Edmund's patience was wearing thin.

"This is why I don't have a dog," Edmund muttered when Peter galloped forward with a happy bark and leapt full into a swamp at the side of the road.

Just before they entered the town, Edmund dismounted and pushed Peter into a little roadside stream until most of the mud washed away.

"Don't you dare get dirty again," Edmund said dryly. Peter thumped his tail.

The town was a small one and pretty with little thatched cottages and people moving this way and that, some walking, some on horseback. The town dogs came pounding in on the sight of Peter and some moments of growling went on until the other dogs retreated, tails between their legs.

"That's showing them, Pete old man," Edmund called, feeling half proud of his brother, then wondering why.

"I don't normally let dogs into my tavern," the tavern keeper said when Edmund asked him.

"He's extremely well behaved," Edmund said. "I really don't want to leave him outside."

"Well, this once, then," the keeper agreed with a sigh.

Edmund ordered lunch and Peter slipped under the table, pushing a damp nose into Edmund's hand.

"Nothing against you, Pete," Edmund said, rubbing his hand off, "But that's just disgusting. You've been in a bog."

He heard Peter whine and thump his tail and the next moment, the hound was scrambling up to sit beside him in the booth.

"Just don't try to eat my food, is all," Edmund muttered and found himself ruffling the hound's ears. Peter cocked his head and smiled.

"The question is, what did I wish for?" Edmund said, taking a bite of his sandwich. Peter watched, intensely fascinated. "You probably don't remember."

Peter thumped his tail.

"I know, I know," Edmund sighed, "If you could, you'd tell me that you have a grand memory for forgetting."

Edmund ate, moving his beer out of Peter's reach when the hound stared into the depths with longing.

"Doggy!"

A little girl's voice squealed from the other side of the room. Edmund looked around to see a farmer with his little daughter on his shoulders, talking to the tavern keeper.

"Poppy, poppy," the little girl hauled on her father's hair, "Might we see the doggy?"

Peter wagged his tail. Edmund could feel it beating against him.

"Is it all right if she pets your dog?" the farmer said turning to smile at Edmund.

"Perfectly," Edmund said, "He's very friendly."

The farmer put his daughter down and Edmund pushed Peter off the seat, "go say hello to the lady."

At last Edmund could eat in peace. The farmer threw himself down across from him and sparked a conversation on crop rotation. Out of the corner of his eye, Edmund watched while Peter lay quiet, his head on his paws while the little girl rode him like a horse, pulled his tail and shouted down his ears. Edmund couldn't suppress his smile.

"That's an excellent dog you have there," the farmer said, sipping his beer. "What's his lineage?"

"Ancient," Edmund said.

"He has gorgeous conformation," the farmer continued. "Is he good on a trail?"

"Absolutely terrible," Edmund said with conviction.

"Just learning?" the farmer smiled. "I had a dog like that once, wonderful animal. He was the best friend I ever had."

"Peter and I are like brothers," Edmund said coolly.

"Oh, his name's Peter?" the farmer leaned down to ruffle Peter's ears, "did you name him after the High King?"

"Ah…their names _are_ sort of related," Edmund said.

"Have you got any others?" the farmer wondered.

"There's Susan and Lucy," Edmund said, staring into his beer. Out of the corner of his eye he saw that Peter had rolled over on his back, all four paws in the air, shaking and if Edmund hadn't known better, he would have thought his brother was laughing.

"Are they all like that one?" the farmer asked, glancing at Peter.

"They all share a family resemblance," Edmund admitted.

"You wouldn't consider selling one, would you?" the farmer inquired delicately.

"Not for any price," Edmund said, "I'm sorry."

"Oh, I understand," the farmer said, "you can get very close to a dog. He is a beautiful animal."

"Thank'ee," Edmund said smiling.

"Not at all." The farmer smiled, "Have a wonderful day; I've got to be getting on. Come along Avigail," stooping he ruffled Peter's ears one last time then picked up his daughter. He nodded to Edmund then departed.

"Doggy!" the little girl wailed.

Edmund grinned as he watched them go, then looked across the room to Peter.

"Hey doggy!" he called, "where shall we go now?"

~o*o~

Peter led the way at a breakneck gallop, his nose to the ground. Edmund was beginning to weary, but Peter didn't seem to know that word existed. Edmund collected Umbra's gallop, then glanced back to see that Ambyr was following his lead rope.

Edmund noted that the shadows were longer. The sun was sinking lower in the sky and the sunlight was almost red, stark against the darkness that was rising in the forest to his right. Time had passed quickly. There had been a fair in town and Edmund had bought Peter a ball, throwing it with a trick Peter had taught him for cricket, until he thought his shoulder would work loose. But Peter would always gallop back and drop it at his feet with an eager look for more.

Edmund sighed and searched the shadows for the familiar reddish-gold coat of his brother. He didn't see it. Darkness was falling like a cloak and he trusted Umbra to find his footing in the gloom. The footfalls of the horses sounded somehow stark and desolate on that lonely road. Edmund shivered and suddenly desperately wished Peter was in sight.

"Peter," Edmund yelled, then whistled. He knew _that_ would get under his brother's skin.

Nothing but silence answered him, then a bark, a short, strangled bark. At the note of urgency Edmund pulled up Umbra without even realizing he did it. The horses stood and snorted in the darkness.

The bark came again, almost a yip. Edmund pricked his ears at the howl that finished the line. Then it started again, two short barks and a howl, strangely chilling in the rising darkness.

"Peter?" Edmund called.

Two yips and a howl followed his words, almost desperate in their urgency. The trees stood dark shadows over him, their branches reaching like the fingers of a skeleton.

"Where are you?" Edmund stood in his stirrups and searched the darkness frantically. Two yips in quick succession answered him and he could feel all his hair going on end as the howl echoed heartbroken into the dusk. Yip, yip, howl. Peter was trying to say something. He knew it.

Then he had it. A faint memory stirred in the back of his mind, a strange bright image flashed before his inward eyes and he saw himself, a little boy, his hand firmly grasped by his big brother.

"I'm going to teach you Morse code, Edmund," the voice echoed in his brain, "the boy next door knows it and he's teaching me."

Two dots and a dash then? Edmund racked his brain for the meaning. V? No, that was three dots and a dash like in Beethoven's Fifth…what _was_ it?

Peter's voice echoed again, two yips and a howl…two dots and a dash.

"'U'!" Edmund exclaimed, "It means 'U'!"

But what did _that_ mean? What on earth did his brother mean by shouting 'U' into the night? Perhaps his doggy brain was overwhelming his usual intelligent one.

"Hop down from that horse, boy."

Edmund jumped as a voice growled softy in the darkness. An iron grip sized his ankle and the next moment he was face down in the dirt of the road, his wrists wrenched behind him. Cheek against the sand he tried to turn his head to see, Umbra's hoof danced a few inches from his nose.

"Anything in those saddlebags?" another voice spoke above him.

"Fishing rods?"

Edmund lay still. He was unarmed except for the throwing knife he always carried in his boot. Strong hands held him down and as he relaxed, he felt them loosen their grip. Moving like a cat, Edmund jerked free, pulling his knife loose. A dark foul-smelling shadow loomed out of the dusk and Edmund buried his knife to the hilt. A roar of pain cut the silence and something hard as steel struck Edmund in the jaw.

He knew no more.

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><p>AN: Peter is a Redbone Coonhound. He would have been such a cute puppy... :)

thanks to the suggestion of OldFashionedGirl, I have changed the glue Edmund was using to fish glue :)


	3. Edmund's Wish

Edmund's Wish

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><p><em>Love is not affectionate feeling, but a steady wish for the loved person's ultimate good as far as it can be obtained. <em>

~ C.S. Lewis

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><p>Edmund woke to the dull glow of firelight on the black, weathered trunk of a tree. He didn't have any consciousness of himself, only a deep pain in his head. The moon was high and two dark forms crouched like ogres around the dying embers of a fire. They were talking, their voices coarse and rough in the darkness.<p>

Edmund shifted and gasped as pain shot up his wrists. He couldn't move, his arms were tied behind him around the trunk of a young tree, his back ached. He sat staring, taking in the darkness, the trees that bowed around him. To the right five horses were tethered together, shadows in the darkness, but the moonlight caught a flash of something pale like silver and Edmund knew that he was looking at Ambyr and his flaxen mane.

"Bran is kilt," one of the voices said and Edmund tried to filter out the sounds of the horses stamping to hear his words, "that boy was quick with his knife."

"I say we kill the boy."

"Let's eat first."

"We'll eat and then we'll kill the boy."

Edmund wiggled his fingers, but that was all he could wiggle. The ropes bit like wires and his fingers were numb and cold. With a moan he laid his head against the trunk of the tree, his back stabbing pain. Now at last he remembered what he had wished for…excitement. Well, he had it.

He wiggled his fingers again, desperately, but it was no use. There was no escape, he was fairly trapped.

"I like not fair terms and a villain's mind," he whispered to himself and snickered at the absurd humor in it. Then he gasped and his heart leapt and pounded madly. Something damp was against his fingers. Something soft was brushing his wrists.

"Peter?" Edmund whispered, a gasp that hissed out of him with his breath.

Something whined softly in the darkness behind him. He felt smooth teeth against his fingers, working against the ropes, making them pull and bite deeper into his skin. Edmund bit his lip and bore the pain as a soft tongue rubbed over and over his fingers and teeth ground the ropes, trying to part them.

Time passed so slowly, creeping like the snail he saw sliding up the trunk of the nearest tree, slimy trail moonlit and glittering. The men were eating and eating too fast for comfort. Desperately in his heart, Edmund wished for midnight. Even if the bandits did not disappear, Peter would be himself again and Peter had had his sword on when he turned into a dog. At the moment, it wasn't much use, wherever it was.

Edmund gasped when the hound's teeth slipped and ground into his skin. He heard Peter whine in apology and turn again to gnawing the ropes. _Oh break, break_! Edmund screamed inside of himself, _how much longer can they hold_?

But it was too late; the figures around the fire were rising, looking impossibly large as their shadows were cast upward by the fire. They were turning to look at him and he watched in horrified fascination as one of them drew a long sheath knife, the blade stained blood red by the embers of the fire. They drew near him with heavy tread and he saw their faces disfigured and leering in the darkness.

"Cut 'im free," one of them grunted. Edmund glared at them, his blue eyes piercing in the moonlight. Desperately he wiggled his wrists, only a few strands of tough fibers still held them fast.

The one with the sheath knife came towards him and from beside him, Edmund heard a low, deep growl, bone chilling and menacing, so strangely like his brother's voice when he was angry. Hackles rising, the hound slunk around the tree from the shadows, the moonlight glowing spectral off his eyes. He crouched in front of Edmund, his teeth bared and glittering.

The men stopped frozen and the one in front gestured, moonlight glancing off his knife blade.

"Where'd 'e come from?"

"Is ita wolf?"

Edmund jerked his wrists, fighting against the last few strands of rope, and Peter feinted sideways and leapt.

~o*o~

Peter leapt at the one in front, jaws wide in the moonlight. There was an audible thump as he struck and a whistling gasp as the man fell, leaving his breath behind in the empty air where he had stood. Shouting, the other man turned and rained kicks down on Peter as he jerked and writhed, his jaws still clamped on the throat of the man on the ground.

Edmund gasped in pain as he jerked his wrists apart, again, again, again. He could feel the ropes giving, letting go, they would break in a moment, in just a moment. He wrenched them, giving all his strength and they broke with a snap. He could feel warm blood trickling down his fingers as he leapt to his feet. The man still standing swung around and grabbed him by the collar, lifting him clear off his feet. Edmund put his knees together and drove them into the man's stomach. He let go gasping.

Edmund rolled and was up again, snatching the sheath knife from where it lay on the ground. The horses were plunging, jerking their tethers and whinnying; he saw wide frightened eyes stare at him as light flashed off the knife in his hand. Moving as quickly as he could, he cut the tethers of all the horses but the two on the end, then shouting and waving the knife, spooked them into the night.

From behind him, he heard growls and shouts as he pushed a foot in Umbra's stirrup and swung astride. Snatching up Ambyr's reins, he turned Umbra around and urged him into the welcoming darkness of the forest.

"Peter!" He yelled, "all clear! Run for it!"

He heard an answering bark, clear and eager and knowing that Peter was behind him, spurred Umbra on into the night.

~o*o~

It was about three minutes later that Edmund pulled up Umbra and looked around. He had reached the main road and tree shadows lay like zebra stripes in the moonlit world around him. Ambyr stood behind him, silver mane heavy over his shoulders, but Edmund had no eyes for him.

"Peter!" he cried.

Where _was_ he?

Heart running in terror, Edmund swung off Umbra and left him ground tied in the middle of the road.

"Peter!"

The woods welcomed him back with open arms and blue shadows, their faces closed in the darkness. Edmund stumbled over their feet, feeling in front of him.

"Idiot! _Idiot_?" he hissed to himself, "why didn't you make sure he was following?"

"Peter!" he called again. A soft whine answered him and Edmund dropped to his knees, feeling, feeling around him. Warm fur met his fingers and shuddered at his touch. Bending low, Edmund saw the hound outstretched on the forest floor, his tail thumping weakly. Edmund felt him over with shaking hands, was this Peter's blood he felt or his own?

"You're all right now, old chap," Edmund said, "For the first time in my life I'm bigger than you."

Gently he leaned down and gathered the hound in his arms, Peter's head lulling against his shoulder. He stood up and stumbled; the dog was an impossible weight.

"Figures," Edmund said, half smiling. Peter did not have an appearance of great weight, but whenever Edmund had a collision with him he always bounced off. Peter was dense.

Edmund staggered back out to the road and stretching all his strength, hoisted Peter over Umbra's saddle. Edmund clambered after him and turned Umbra. There was no question about going back to Cair Paravel and scaring Susan, they were going.

~o*o~

Edmund dismounted at the gates of the castle and knocked, his tender knuckles screaming. He heard bolts shooting back and a moment later, the little door set in the larger one swung open and Ahearn the centaur, the keeper of the gates, looked out, searching the night.

"King Edmund," Ahearn said, opening the gate the rest of the way, "Queen Susan has been worrying over you. Is the High King with you, your majesty?"

"He's stopping away another day," Edmund said leading the horses through the gate. Ahearn raised an eyebrow as Ambyr passed him.

"Shall I expect him, sire?"

"No, he'll not be coming tonight," Edmund said.

The horses' iron shod hooves rang and echoed on the cobles underfoot and moonlight gleamed blue on clammy walls. Edmund stumbled as he walked, his hand on Umbra's withers. He kept reaching up to touch Peter's head and get a reassuring lick from his brother.

"We're nearly there, old man," Edmund said and almost expected his brother's familiar voice to echo out of the darkness, "So we are, baby brother."

At his shout, a groom, rubbing sleep from his eyes, came down from his room above the stable to take the horses and look on questioningly as Edmund lifted the hound from Umbra's saddle and staggered away into the night.

~o*o~

"We few, we happy few, we band of brothers." Susan's soft voice hung in the fire-lit chamber, "For he today that sheds his blood with me shall be my brother...what's that?"

Susan lowered the book and glanced down at Lucy were she sat on the bearskin before the fire, knitting at a breakneck speed, her curls lit like burnished gold. Blue-green sparks leapt up, flying towards the flue as the flames licked around a copper nail, bent and brilliant in the firewood.

"It must be Peter and Edmund back," Lucy said, looking up. They both were silent as footsteps came down the hall, unsteady and tottering, then stopped. A gentle tapping came at the chamber door.

"Quoth the raven, 'nevermore'," Susan said grinning, "come in!"

"Can you open the door?" Edmund's voice came.

Lucy leapt off the bearskin and trotted across the room, opening the door wide with a smile.

"Hullo! We thought you'd never come back, where-" she broke off and stared as Edmund staggered through the door and fell to his knees, laying his burden gently on the bearskin by the fire.

"Oh poor thing!" Lucy gasped, "What happened?"

"Edmund!" Susan grabbed him by the shoulder and turned him around, "what did you do to your face? Did you fall off your horse? You're all bruised!"

"I'm fine," Edmund said, putting his hands on her shoulders.

"Did you fall off your horse?"

"Yes, actually, I did."

He turned back to the dog. Lucy was cooing over it, its head in her lap.

"Where ever did you find it?" Lucy asked, her eyes shining, "He's such a sweet looking thing! Is it a he or a she?"

"It's a he," Edmund said, "and I'm afraid he's met with a bit of an accident."

"I'll say," Susan said and with skillful, but gentle hands, she began to feel the dog over. The hound yelped when her fingers pressed too hard.

"He has a few bruises and I'd say some broken ribs," Susan said at last, "but he'll mend nicely. I didn't think you liked dogs, Edmund."

"I like this one," Edmund said, his voice low.

~o*o~

Edmund didn't eat dinner, he sat next to the dog and the others watched him wondering, while he talked and laughed with it as if it could understand every word he said.

"_Where_ is Peter?" Susan asked, just before she closed the door, "He disappeared this morning."

"He does that," Edmund said, trying to sound nonchalant.

"I thought he was with you," Susan leaned on the door.

"He was for a while."

That night, Edmund brought the dog into his room and laid him before the fire on the bearskin from the other room. Susan and Lucy bid him goodnight and Lucy even went and kissed the dog, wishing him sweet dreams. The hound thumped his tail once.

"He's awfully attached to that dog," Susan said smiling as they went to their own rooms.

"He always said that he hated dogs," Lucy said, then threw a strong arm around her sister and held her close, "good night Susan and sweet dreams to _you_ too."

"And you," Susan said, kissing the top of her little sister's head.

~o*o~

"How you can sleep, baby brother!"

That familiar voice. Edmund stirred, shifting in his sleep. Then he started and came awake with a shock. Something ice cold was trickling over his face.

He yelled and bright foggy images began to merge into one. Peter's face was above him, horribly bruised, but grinning, the pitcher from the washstand in his hand. Edmund sat bolt upright and stared at him.

"You're you again!" Edmund cried. Peter laughed and tousled his hair. Edmund reached out and grabbed him, one fierce, tight embrace and let him go when he howled.

"I am so glad to see you," Edmund said seriously.

"Look," Peter said, swinging unsteadily on the bedpost, "I may be me again, but it stands to reason that the ribs are still broken."

Edmund shook his head, smiling, "What was it like?"

"Like?" Peter said, "Terrible. I could smell things you wouldn't imagine…and I still feel like wagging my tail."

Edmund laughed. "I'm so glad to see you."

"I'm glad to see you," Peter said, lowering himself gingerly on the bed, "I couldn't let you sleep any longer. How are you doing? You have a bit of a swollen face there."

"I'm doing fine, you?"

"Swell."

"Good, shall we go downstairs?" Edmund said, "Susan's worried about you."

"You didn't tell her?"

"No."

"Good."

~o*o~

"How much of you was dog and how much of you was you?" Edmund wondered as they walked down the hallway.

"Oh, I was all me."

"You were acting like a dog."

"Most of that was for your benefit," Peter said grinning. "You wouldn't believe the expression on your face when I jumped into the bog."

Edmund grinned wryly, then turned to him again, "There's just one thing I want to ask."

"What's that?"

"What was it you were signaling me in Morse code?" Edmund wondered. "I figured out that it was a 'U', but what did it mean?"

"You are standing into danger," Peter said, his hand on the door of the breakfast room, "It was the only thing I could think of to warn you."

"Well…it didn't work, but thanks for the thought," Edmund said as Peter lifted the latch and the door swung open.

"Peter!" Lucy called at once; from where she sat, across from Susan at the table, "you're back!"

"Good morning!" Peter said, grinning.

"Peter!" Susan cried as she got a clearer view of him, "What did you do to yourself? What's that black eye?"

Edmund stood against the door, his back to it, watching while Peter helplessly tried to explain why he had a black eye and a couple of broken ribs.

"How's the dog?" Lucy was looking up at him, grinning.

"What dog?" Edmund asked distantly.

* * *

><p>The End<p>

* * *

><p><em>And the moral to that story is this: Be careful what you wish for, it might come true and don't judge a book by its cover.<em>

* * *

><p>AN: Well...strange, yes...hope you enjoyed it anyway! I'm sure you've all heard the fairy tail about the Golden Fish that granted wishes! :)<p>

My next story will be what I have been calling 'Narnia and the North', but have renamed 'The Horse that Stole the Boy'.

~Rose and Psyche


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